


Reflexive Reactions

by Lavender_Seaglass



Series: And then came the rest [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, being married, guess which one is the helicopter parent, someone has a naughty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_Seaglass/pseuds/Lavender_Seaglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrom's priorities aren't disarrayed, it's the world that's gone astray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflexive Reactions

“And that's the end of it,” Chrom says to Robin. He looks her in the eyes as he does so, and _that's_ the hardest part. She can't doubt now that he means it.

She settles her gaze in front of her, on Lucina. Her blue-haired, father-like daughter who's learning to ice-skate. Her instructor now is Sully. The knight leads the girl with a surprising delicateness. Though brash and not holding back a bit when Lucina does something less than perfectly, the woman's a magnificent coach who tends to her charge marvellously. It must come with the training she gives their new recruits regularly.

Sully's language must be a part of her training, too, for it is not something anyone has yet asked her to scale back in the presence of the princess. Lucina falls. The red-haired woman, who's in fact red and stands in such stark contrast to the white and greys of winter all about her, she tells Lucina to get up off her arse and try again.

Eventually her husband reaches out and finds Robin's hand. Their gloved fingers intertwine, and she shivers—how many more times will she be able to do this before he departs? Ten? Fifteen? Are these numbers hopefully high? He says he'll only be going on an exploratory mission come January, that he'll be back before the baby's due. He _wants_ to be back before that because her due date is only days after Lucina's birthday. His birthday's only a few weeks after that. (She was born on 8 December. That will be here soon.)

But if it's just an exploratory mission, why won't he let her come? Surely she and Lucina are at greater risk if they remain here in Ylisse—like his sister was, whom Robin suspects this is about. He may have won his last war, but how can he be sure how much of that was his own work and how much was hers, and don't they both know that they work better together, are, as they said in their wedding vows, a sum greater than its mortal parts?

She knows that they have much more competent generals than him. At times she wishes she could shout at him to not to treat her like this. She' _s not_ someone he can control with a single word or whim. But she knows how puerile that would be, and puerile behaviour would only make her position worse. She needs to be a queen while he's away. People need to respect her if that's to go well.

She clutches at his hand. He squeezes back. He pulls her close, wraps his arm around her and holds her against his side, shoulder to shoulder. “Warm enough?” He turns as he asks, and he brushes against her once-more protruding belly.

She nods into his shoulder. “I love you, Chrom. I want to be there for you.”

“But I need you here, as does Lucina and our people. The baby needs you here, too.”

“I get it,” she says softly. “My place is here.”

But it _isn't,_ it's by his side protecting Ylisse. She's to blame for her failing. She hadn't seen Valm's obvious actions, hadn't had the foresight that she _should_ have had. (As the adage goes, history's not made of great events, but merely the result of human errors.)

The conception was her fault. She was the one who had brought up co-ordination with Lucina's and his birthdays. Wouldn't that be nice to have weeks of celebration at the castle? And that had led to actions and heat, spurring each other on in the cool summer grass, and the libido of dreaming mid-twenty-somethings.

That this pregnancy has been much easier than the last isn't helping her accept being left behind. No morning sickness. No aversion to types of food. The only things abnormal are her tightening stomach and constant fatigue, which are both expected results of her condition. Although, two weeks ago, the only thing she had an appetite for was a kind of sour yellow berry found exclusively in the northernmost regions of Ferox, and that was, is, certainly something uncommon. She still has jars of them. And in one of her pockets she has a small pouch with her, just in case.

Chrom says, “I love you, Robin. It may seem silly, but there it is. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she says back. But she doesn't look up, she doesn't brave the depths of his blue eyes. “I am so lucky to have you by my side. If anything were to happen to you... I...”

“You would step up onto that throne and raise our children. And you would do it brilliantly.”

“Maybe. But that's not going to happen, because you're going to keep your damned word and come back. And you're going to be back before I pop out your next kid.”

“All of the Valmese legions could not keep me back.”

“Gods' speed to you, my man. You'll need it, for if you're not back, I'm going to get on a horse first thing and find your sorry arse.”

“My arse truly will be sorry then, won't it?”

“You know it,” she says, and she elbows him.

She then smiles at Sully, who's smirking at them while Lucina's distracted with trying to perform a pirouette.

He laughs. He normally would lift her up now, but, with the baby to consider, he takes her arms in his hands and asks, “Would you like to go a few rounds on the ice?”

“Sure, my love.”

Humming contendedly, he tucks her one arm under his and leads her step by step over to the ice. The blades of their skates cut easily into the snow, and their steps compact the three layers that have fallen over the past two weeks. Carefully, acting as an anchor, he guides her onto the ice, then hops on himself. She floats along easily, but keeps her moves simple and her pace slow to assuage Chrom's worries.

He remains practically on top of her for several minutes.

Then Lucina zips by them, and he starts worrying about _her_ , and that results somehow in a game of chase over and across the pond. Sully joins in, while Robin floats serenely by on the periphery of their chaos. She lets her hair out. The breeze that tugs tufts of her silver-blonde hair is quite pleasantly chilly. She feels a little bit like a bird that's free in a joyous frisson of flight. Though she really isn't going that fast, so maybe she's a flightless bird. All she wants is some movement.

It's nice to get some exercise. Between everything that's happened in the last few weeks, it's been hard to find time to indulge herself. (Her own swordcraft has become extremely poor, she feels, so that anyone with a few solid years of fencing instruction would be more than a match for her.) She's currently too blissed out to notice the occasional lingering glance she receives from Chrom.

Eventually, the three of them tire and they catch up with her. The family join hands, with Lucina in the middle, and go a few turns around the pond. Then it's time to return to the castle. Though they are still technically inside of the safety of the structure, just inside the outer ring.

Lucina's handed off to two of her governesses to be bathed and clothed and put down for a nap. Robin and Chrom return to the their own chambers. She goes in first and he follows, and everything's unassumingly normal until she hears the definite click of a lock.

She moves to turn around, but here's Chrom behind her, trapping her and holding her with his natural strength and height advantage.

She sighs as though she's put upon by the entire world. “Chrom?”

“You let your hair down,” he says. He closes in on her one last bit by nuzzling at her neck, right where it begins to curve into her shoulder. “You know what that does to me. Do you know what that means is going to have to happen?”

“I'm going to take a bath?”

“Yes—but there are consequences.”

“How do you mean?”

“You'll be allowed a bath, milady, but it will have to be with me. Then, right after that, I'm going to sit you in that chair over there and rub your feet all the way up to your most sensitive inner thighs. And then, to truly punish you, I am going to perform certain acts with you on that carpet right there in front of that fireplace,” he says, and that last syllable is a hiss in her ear. With one arm he lets go of her waist. He runs that hand down her side and up her arm, where it settles possessively on her shoulder, a salient statement despite the intimacy of their present place.

All she says is, “Oh, you'll have to attend these monsters, too.” She places his roaming hand directly on one of her breasts. “They bother me so. And recently they won't stop growing, you see.”

He squeezes. “Hmm. Perhaps something can be arranged. Is it both that are bothering you, or just the one?”

“Both. I told you, they're monsters.”

“I will do what I can,” Chrom says.

 

.

 

And they do something like this on her birthday, too.

The last part, the certain acts on the carpet, is cuddling in front of a fire. She lies on her back on a bed of cushions arranged by him, and he lies with his head propped up against her stomach as he reads aloud from some of her strategy books. They discuss tactics, and they go over which routes he will be travelling and who will be in his company. The first few months he'll be gone are not good months for war. But this isn't war they're at, they're scouting for an invasion in someone else's lands. So that requires a whole new level of tactical thinking.

She takes this into account.

Eventually they shift, and she rubs his neck and back and shoulders, as well as his hands and his scalp. The latter is an especial sweet spot of his. It's also one of the reasons why he appreciates a good cuddle more than a romp between their clean sheets: it lasts longer. Its intimacy is more meaningful. It involves long sessions of kissing that may result in long, needy greedy kisses that leave them both gasping.

It's also easier to talk during these times.

And it's this time that he uses to set her mind at ease, and to make saying goodbye a little easier.

 

**…**

 

All that Lucina really understands is that they will not let her see her mother. They haven't for almost two days now. Just be strong a little while longer, they tell her. She asks them then where her father is, but they avoid the question, and when she asks _why_ he isn't here, they ignore that question altogether.

For the first day her mother had been occasionally screaming. For the first night she had been occasionally shrieking. Since then, Lucina has heard nothing.

After her lessons that day, she sneaks down to where her mother's being confined. She stays hidden by drawing on every skill that her father has taught her. She's tiny as a mouse, graceful as a butterfly; no-one can catch her. After a while she notices a pattern: every so often women bring bowls of water or baskets of white cloths into the room. That strikes her as strange—otherwise someone lied to her about what the word confinement means. It doesn't mean being held somehow, but being given a bath. It wouldn't be the first time that someone has tricked her like this.

But she waits.

Dusk begins to gather in corners of the hallway. Someone comes along to light torches on the wall and the chandeliers above, but they don't see her. She doesn't think to think that someone might be looking for her, or worried about her. If anything, everyone's focussed on her mother.

Settling in, she eventually drifts to sleep, and dreams of a time in the night when those with keys would leave the door unlocked and she could slip in, and her mum would be there on her bed sitting up and smiling and waiting. And she would have a younger sister to play with, and there would be her father and his voice, though he's yelling, yelling—

He _is_ yelling. Her father, still in his travel-worn clothes is marching down the hall. He awakens her, and he grows closer with his muck encrusted trousers, frayed cape flaring, hair askew, eyes afire, shoulders shaking. His armoured boots clank and summon a great monster of sound in the enclosed hall.

She's horrified. She's never seen her father like this before. He must, she thinks, not be himself. Possessed, perhaps? But how absurd, her father is so, so strong.

Whatever it is that has him, it must be terrifying. She must save him!

Gathering her courage and holding her breath, the little girl charges from her hiding spot and into her father's leg. She hears him say something loudly, but right after that he speaks again and this time it comes softly. He scoops her up to hug her. The familiarity of it all is enough to calm her down.

He's _missed_ her. He's relieved to see her, and the last thing he had needed just now was for her to be lost. Thank the gods that she found him. And does she know what is going on with her mother? No?

He stops talking to her.

“Is mother going to die?” she asks. She doesn't know what it means, not really, but it's something that she has heard mentioned around her.

He regards her strangely for a moment, and she dreads that she has said something wrong. She's been told before not to repeat certain things, so if only someone had told her _going to die_ was one of those things to not say—

“No,” he says to her. “She's not. So don't worry, sweetheart. Now come on, let's get you to bed so I know where you are. It's time for you to sleep.”

She hides herself in the space between her father's arm and his torso.

He smells dirty and strange, but he's here.

 

.

 

Lucina's worry has an effect on him. She calms his incendiary emotions by way of her miraculous reveal, but her words effectively force him to confront what could happen. It's a possible outcome, and he's not a determining factor.

And there are other things that he has to attend to now. So he does.

By the time he returns to his wife late into the night, she has been delivered of their baby boy. _Morgan_ , he tells them. The midwives say nothing but that his wife is fine, and they leave him with her. She must be stable enough now to be safe.

In the silence, he pulls himself over to where she's dozing.

The bed shifts because of his weight, and he shudders. (But shuddering is a good sign, it evinces his regret at causing such a disturbance.) His wife is pale despite the heat in the room. Her skin looks more like wax than porcelain. Her slicked back hair is several shades darker because of the layers of sweat dried there.

He struggles.

This moment is eternal—what he will do next is let her know that he's finally here, and her anxiety will turn into relief. Then her relief will quickly sour into a damnable disappointment that he'll rightly be accorded. The fact will be that his measure of unburdened happiness will be never full enough.

But, for this moment, the process's not yet set into motion. It exists only as a possibility no matter how probable. And he could wait forever, here, if only he hadn't this other source of nervous tension: the longer he waits, the longer he's letting her down.

The expectation makes this a tableau for his memories.

Eventually, he inhales deeply and doesn't exhale. He reaches out, tentatively, touches her hand. Then he entwines their fingers.

“You're late,” she says, her voice like a weight suddenly dropped upon him.

He's forced to expel his breath. It comes across infinitely more impetuous than he means. “I know.”

“Both of you were late,” she says. Like both he and their son need to get it together.

He knows that she's fatigued, possibly delirious, and that only makes it worse—he wasn't here for her to lighten the load.

“For a while I had to think that my family was reduced by half once again. But I was wrong. I'm glad—relieved. I can't tell you how much.”

He lowers himself, as though bowing. His head is rested against her body through the sheets. She lays her other hand across his back. It's a firm gesture. He feels it, and it's like absolution.

“I know you did your best, my love. I did my best here as well, and that almost wasn't enough for something. For something much simpler... Please, I forgive you. You came back to me.”

He looks up, slowly.

“I said I would.”

“Yes. And you did. That's enough.”

_That's enough._

And yet, and yet—he moves to embrace her. Despite the strong odour of body and sweat and labour he does it. _And yet_ , _he could have done better._

And they cling to each other, and fate is not considered.

“Milord?”

They look up. Here's a conflicted looking Lucina standing in the room, being escorted by the hand by her head governess. The woman's in her dressing gown and hood with a heavy wool coat on top. Lucina obviously knows she's in trouble, but a part of her obviously thinks it's worth it. She looks chastened, but she looks to her parents longingly. “The princess was _quite_ insistent that she see her parents.” The governess says, as though her honour has been thoroughly ignored and mercilessly trounced by this rebellious little child.

“Very well,” Chrom says. “Lucina, come here.” He beckons. As he lifts her up onto the bed, he addresses the governess:

“Please have the midwife bring Morgan.”

She looks at him for something.

“My son.”

“At once, Your Majesty.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucina says when they're alone. “But I really, really wanted to see you, Mother. And my baby brother and Father, but those ladies wouldn't let me see you. And they wouldn't tell me why you were hurt.”

“It's over now, Lucina,” Robin says with a smile. She runs her hand through her daughter's bedhead. “I'm fine, and Father's home.”

“Yes! I found him and he still had a monster chasing him,” she says. “I saved him.”

“It's true,” he confirms with a nod. “Our daughter's a hero.”

Robin's about to offer accolades when the midwife comes in with a sleeping Morgan. She falls silent.

Although the baby doesn't stay with them for long, they sit as a family for a time. Robin holds him first, then passes him to Chrom, and Lucina admires him. She asks if she may touch him.

Granted limited permission, she pats her brother's head. Then she crawls into her father's lap and dozes. She remains there until she and her father are kicked out, after which she returns to bed herself. Sleep is something she doesn't have to seek.

 


End file.
